The Deserving One
by ChloeJK
Summary: This is a story that takes place after book seven, but pretends that mini-epilogue never happened. Neville has to repeat his seventh year in school while making unlikely friends, avoiding his duties as Head of the Longbottom family, and falling in love with a girl he can never have.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This is a story that takes place after book seven, but pretends that mini-epilogue never happened. Neville has to repeat his seventh year in school while making unlikely friends, avoiding his duties as Head of the Longbottom family, and falling in love with a girl he can never have.

 **Disclaimer:** JK Rowling is the creator of this universe; I just like to live in it.

* * *

Standing in front of the huge stone castle, it's like the final battle with Voldemort never happened.

The courtyard, which had been piles of rubble when I had last seen it, is in pristine condition. Not just that, but it looks alive. The brick walls are splattered with aesthetic patches of peat moss. The small gardens bloom with auriculas, primroses, and polyanthus (which are a bit too yellow for my own taste, but Professor Sprout likes petals that remind her sunshine). Even the Black Lake seemed bluer than it ever has this close to dusk. But despite this overabundance of life, there are no students skipping stones across the water. No groups of girls stand gossiping by the flowers. And when I listen intently through the courtyard doors, the roar of the students waiting for the Start-of-Term Feast is nothing but dull murmurs.

Normally, I'd already be in there, walking through the Entrance Hall with whoever I had shared a carriage with from the train station. The last few years, this had always been someone from the DA. This year, I had taken too long to exit the train (which will happen when you carry a snarfalump). Even though all the students had gone ahead, there were still nearly ten empty carriages. I hopped in the nearest one, wondering sadly how many students had been taken by surprise with the thestrals' appearance this year.

My carriage caught up to the main group, but the other riders were either silent or whispering to themselves in their carts. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were right in front of me, but the titling of their heads and undertone words made it clear they were in the middle of a private conversation. So I tended to my snarfalump, Miranda, who had wrapped a tentacle around my neck to get my attention. Once Filch had checked me in at the gates, I caught Ron's eye, but only gave him a wave as I walked around the castle to the back courtyard. It didn't seem right to go in with them. At least, it didn't feel like I belonged at that moment.

It had been nice, standing out here; nature has the odd way of relaxing and invigorating me simultaneously. But the courtyard's clock states I have only five minutes until the firsties arrive. Not wanting to miss the sorting, I walk from the edge to the courtyard to the giant doors beneath the clock's pendulum. Before I can go in, Miranda wraps her lavender vine around my prefect badge and rips it off my clothes.

"That wasn't very nice," I reprimand her softly. Then I wince. I probably should have taken her straight to the dormitory. But after loosing Trevor for so many years, I tend to hold on to living things in my care a little more closely that I should. I guess I'll just find an an empty spot at the Gryffindor table and warn people to stay away.

I'm struggling to pin the badge back on when a soft voice from the door says, "There you are."

Luna comes skipping down the stairs, her radish earrings dangling merrily beneath her ears. I smile as I always do when she is nearby, but the grin gets lost in a hiss when I accidentally stab myself with the pin. She whips out her wand and points to the shinning golden "P" above my robe's Gryffindor emblem.

"Affigo."

The badge affixes itself temporarily to my robes. I blush, wishing I had thought to do the sticking charm myself. But knowing my luck, I probably would have accidentally done a permanent sticking charm instead. I don't even know if I should be wearing the badge; I only got it because Ron didn't show up for school last year. But it seemed wrong to leave it behind.

"I was getting worried," she says, her daydream tone conveying none of her concern. She pets Miranda, who curls her smallest tentacle around Luna's pinky finger like a dainty ring. "Is everything all right?"

"Just admiring Professor Sprout's work," I say, nodding to the well-tended moss and flowers.

"Well you mustn't stay any longer. It's frightfully bad luck to stand by moss at sunset."

"Nargles are attracted to them?" I hazard a guess.

"Blibbering Humdingers. You'll sing off pitch for days after being pecked by one of them," she corrects before grabbing my hand. She skips just as gaily as she came as I stumble after her, tripping on the stone steps. But as it always is when it comes to Luna, I just kind of go with the flow as best I can.

When we get to the doors to the Great Hall, I stop to look at the crowd standing in the Entrance Hall. It's a small group, but that's no surprise. Professor Flitwick, our new Deputy Headmaster, goes over the four houses and the sorting process. I catch two pairs of eyes that looked as terrified as mine when I was in their shoes. I'm able to give them each a smile before Luna drags Miranda and me into the Great Hall.

As I expected, there are large empty patches at the Gryffindor table, as well as the other three house tables. Shortly after the events of last year, the Hogwarts Board of Governors sent out notices to all families. Within it, they indicated Hogwarts would be open, but this year's attendance wouldn't be mandatory for continued enrollment. This was to give students time with their families after everything that had happened. I know Dean's family had elected to do this, as well as few of the younger members of the DA who I kept in contact with over the summer.

The Board had also notified that students had the option of retaking their previous year course load without risk of any demerits on their academic record. I had been so relieved when I had seen that letter considering I had failed every subject on my NEWTs, with the exception to Herbology. My grandmother… well, she wasn't too happy.

"You don't need to take the NEWTS to take your place as head of the Longbottoms," she had pushed. "You are at your age of majority and need to start taking on your responsibilities."

Thankfully, I had learned to stand up for myself somewhat and had convinced her to give me her blessing to go back to school. True, it was only after I crumbled and agreed to begin taking on my duties as head while I was attending, but I had her blessing, and I was trying to focus on that.

Luna tickles Miranda in the center of her tentacles before floating away to the Ravenclaw table. As soon as I set down the snarfalump at the end of the table, it begins grabbing everything in reach: goblets, plates, table centerpieces—nothing is safe.

"Calm down," I say, ducking as she throws a spoon toward my head. "You are being very rude."

I'm faintly aware of the growing laughter echoing around me, but I can't be bothered to care too much as I have more pressing matters to deal with. Like the butter knife currently heading straight for my eye. I flinch and block my hands in front of my face. But there is no impact. I hesitate, looking through a crack in my fingers with a squint of an eye. Ginny flips the knife in the air.

"Did you seriously bring a devil's snare to the Start-of-Term Feast?" Her tone is teasing and light.

"No, ah…" I grab Miranda quickly and put her on the floor as I try to gather my thoughts. "She's a snarfalump."

"Ah, yes, snarfalumps," she says, obviously having no idea what that meant.

I grin a bit foolishly. "They're mostly harmless. She's young and feels the need to touch and grab everything. But she'll be hitting puberty next month and should keep her hands to herself. Hopefully, anyway."

She chuckles and lightly hits me on the shoulder. "And here I was thinking you and Hagrid could begin bonding over your love for dangerous things that could kill you."

I wish I had something snappy to say in reply, but I don't. I try to stop smiling as my cheeks are beginning to hurt and I know my teeth aren't that great, but I can't. My shoes scuff the floor as I search for something to say. But all I can think of is how her long hair is almost the same shade of the Dwarf Pomegranate flowers I had planted for my grandmother over summer vacation. Almost. But not quite.

"Her name is Miranda," I eventually say.

She taps the pot with her toe, exposing her bare ankles and slip-on shoes from the folds of her robes. "Well, Miranda and I might have to 'talk' if she tries to stab you again."

"Thanks for that," I say quickly, wanting to hit myself that I didn't think to say it sooner.

She winks and the nudges me with her arm, "You owe me one."

"I'll give you two," I say on cue.

She turns to walk back to the empty spot beside Harry a few bench spaces away from my own. I rub my arm fondly.

The first time we exchanged those words was when I temporarily set her ankle after the Department of Mysteries. I had been shaking pretty bad, given Bellatrix had cursed me with… well… that. But I have had enough mishaps to learn at least a basic first aid. I hadn't healed it or anything—I'll probably never be that good—but she had sighed in relief and thanked me. After that, I can only blame the post adrenaline rush and the general thrill that I was still alive for my cavalier reply, "you owe me one." She had stared in a bit of a shock, before smiling back as wide as the pain would allow her before saying, "I'll give you two."

The next time it had happened, it was sixth year in the astronomy tower. Thorfinn Rowle had been casting Killing curses everywhere, and had aimed one for me. Ginny had yanked me out of the way at one point, causing the green stream of light to hit the Death Eater Gibbon. Then seventh year, we were saying it to each other constantly. When I warned her the Carrows had replaced her broom with a jinxed replica; when Ginny had helped me escape from the dungeons; and when I had stepped in front of her when Goyle tried to cast the Cruciatus on her.

The last had happened the day before the Easter holidays; the day before she had gone into hiding. Ginny had been forced to leave me with Goyle so she could hide the first year Ravenclaw who had been at the receiving end of Goyle's wand. I still remember the way Goyle had continuously cast the curse for maybe a quarter of an hour before Severus Snape had walked on the scene. He only dismissed the Slytherin and then said to me, "Ten points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew."

My pain-clenched lips refused to let me protest that prefects have no curfews.

I told the story to Ginny later that night, between the shakes and tremors I had gotten… well, not used to; you can never get used to the Cruciatus, but had learned to suffer through quietly until they wore off. She had looked at me quietly for a really long time. It was odd, that stare. And I remember that my shaking had gotten worse under it. I had said "you owe me one" as a way to lighten the situation. She eventually smiled, but then hugged me hard and said, "I'll give you a hundred."

I'm so caught in the memory of that embrace that when I move to sit down at the Gryffindor table, I don't realize that Miranda has looped my shoelaces together. I fall down with a bang and the entire room begins laughing. I blush heavily, but smile too. It's good to hear the Great Hall sounding cheerful; even if it is at my expense.

The firsties walk into the hall shortly after. I make a point to wave at the small boy with cornrows and the freckled girl I had smiled to at the entrance. It seems to give them a little comfort anyway. By the time the sorting is ready to begin, I'm happy to see the Sorting Hat in one piece. It looks a little crispier after the battle, but at least there are no holes or tears.

When the brim opens, the Great Hall falls silent.

 _It's good to see so many here_

 _After all that we've been through._

 _It's sad to think on what we've lost;_

 _People dear to me and you._

 _Here at Hogwarts we will stand_

 _Together in four quarters._

 _So even though I'll sort you out,_

 _Know all are your supporters._

 _The Gryffindors are brave and true_

 _And tend to be audacious._

 _But if you find yourself in need,_

 _Their chivalry is quite tenacious._

 _A Hufflepuff is a loyal friend_

 _Who will always be by your side._

 _When toil or strife cross your path,_

 _They'll stick beside at every stride._

 _Ravenclaws are intelligent_

 _And will hold your presence high._

 _For if you value wit like them,_

 _Your limits are just the sky._

 _Slytherins are cunning folks,_

 _Who know the road of survival_

 _Don't let the men before deter you;_

 _They are due for a great revival._

 _Not house is wrong, no house is right_

 _Please ease your little minds._

 _For any place I sort you in_

 _Claims masters of Wizard-kind._

 _So step on up and don't by shy_

 _I promise I won't bite._

 _Just put me on your ickle head;_

 _Your journey starts tonight!_

My hands sting from my loud claps. It never ceases to surprise me how the Sorting Hat crafts the perfect pitch to match the tone of the times. The last thing these kids needed was a dose of fear or caution. I look to the two kids I waved at and see their faces have gotten less pinched and more excited. Good. I only hope the bit about the Slytherin house being due for a revival is true.

The freckled brunette, Portia Ollivander, is sorted into Slytherin and the boy in cornrows, Keenan Robinson, is put in Gryffindor. I clap for them loudly and smile when Keenan sits beside me.

"Why are you here by yourself?" He asks, probably wondering if I'm some sort of weirdo.

I point to Miranda. Whether or not it confirms or deny his likely worry, I'm unsure. "She tends to get a little grabby, so I'm keeping her away from the crowd."

He stares at Miranda's purple tentacles which reach desperately for the table. "What is it?"

"A snarfalump."

He blinks. "Is that like a heffalump?"

I blink back. "Err… I don't think so."

"It's a moogle thing," he shrugs, looking down at his hands.

"Muggle," I correct. I hand my spoon over to Miranda to give her something to play with. "So tell me, what's a heffalump?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, it's stupid."

"Go on," I nudge, pausing to clap as the final firstie, Gabriel Wood, gets sorted into Gryffindor. Huh. It seems like half of the first years got sorted into Gryffindor this year. I glance over to the Slytherin table. And besides Portia, only two others got placed in Slytherin. As I scan the table, my eyes widen to see Draco Malfoy sitting by himself. I thought he was under house arrest from the Wizengamot? As if feeling my stare, his eyes suddenly meet mine to give me the darkest of glares. I blush and give my attention back to Keenan.

"Well," Keenan says, even shyer when Gabriel comes to sit by us. "It's something from a Disney movie, so unless you…"

"I love Disney movies!" Gabriel says, her green eyes wide and excited. "I'm a half-blood, so I only get to see them when we visit my dad's parents, but I've watched every movie like eighteen times. My favorite is Aladdin. What's yours? Do you like Aladdin?"

I hide a smile at Keenan's dumfounded face. "What mover were you talking bout?" I ask, gently prompting him to speak.

"Err, movie. And I was talking about the heffalumps in Winnie the Pooh."

I never did fully get to understand what heffalumps or Disney move-ees were, as Gabriel's excitement took on sonic heights. Even Miranda's tentacles dropped the spoon and curled in on herself, as if trying to protect it's non-existent eardrums. Maybe it could feel the vibrations of her high pitch? Hmmm… that's something I would have to ask Professor Sprout about later. Maybe using a dog whistle would subdue it's actions if it became excessively grabby like it did with—

"Neville!" Ginny calls, just before a piece of bread hits me in the forehead. She laughs and points at the gravy dish beside my elbow that appeared sometime after McGongall's brief announcements, which I completely missed. "I think the firstie would like some gravy for his potatoes."

"Oh, right, sorry guys," I say. I pass the gravy dish down. But not before I secretly eat the piece of bread that had fallen on my plate. And not before I see Harry place a kiss on Ginny's cheek, causing my bread to go flavorless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** This is a story that takes place after book seven, but pretends that mini-epilogue never happened. Neville has to repeat his seventh year in school while making unlikely friends, avoiding his duties as Head of the Longbottom family, and falling in love with a girl he can never have.

 **Disclaimer:** JK Rowling is the creator of this universe; I just like to live in it.

* * *

Before the feast ends, Hermione goes around to all the prefects from the four houses and instructs them to meet at the Great Hall after they escort the students to their common rooms. It's the first time I notice the head girl badge on her robe. I felt a little better about the golden "P" stuck on my robes when Hermione tells me about the meeting without any look of surprise over my pin. Still, it's strange walking beside Ron as we escort the firsties.

Keenan and Gabriel keep close by me as they had offered (well, Gabriel had offered for both of them) to carry Miranda. Gabriel coos over her, complimenting her tentacles and lovely scent of lemon and cinnamon. Keenan appears to be praying under his breath.

The closer to the Gryffindor tower we got, the quieter we all become. Well, everyone except the first years, who are too busy ogling over the talking portraits, shrieking in delight at the moving staircase, and tripping over their feet in general awe at being in a castle saturated with magic. I tried to see this and experience it with Keenan and Gabriel. I really did. But I, like so many others trudging the stairs, can only see the empty spaces on the wall of kind portraits the Carrows had destroyed; the scattered knights standing stony guard, now riddled with dark magic marks; and the staircase we had to avoid completely given it hadn't been fixed from the battle yet.

The Fat Lady waves at the group as we approach, but we all notice the two security trolls standing at either side. Her portrait thankfully had extra charms for protection after the Sirius Black episode, but the Carrows had thrown everything they had at her to gain entry to the common rooms more than once. To be honest, I'm surprised she still agreed to be here. I wouldn't blame her, after being confronted with a multitude of dark curses on a daily basis.

Still, her voice is steady and cheery as she asks, "Password?"

"Go on, Neville," Ron says, giving me a small nudge with his shoulder.

I give him a grateful look as I step forward. I open my mouth, but then pause after looking to Gabriel and Keenan. I swallow what I was going to say and instead state, "Heffalumps."

Nearly everyone looks at me like I'm spouting Mermish except Gabriel and Keenan who beam at the inside joke. I only hope that I'll remember it. It's close enough to a plant so I should be fine.

Right?

By the time we get the first-year boys and girls settled, Ron and I turn around and head back out the door, discussing Quidditch and the like—nothing serious. By the time we get to the Great Hall, nearly all the house's prefects are there except Ravenclaw, as they had the furthest distance to travel from their common room. In addition, all the professors have stayed behind. Hermione sits up front with the professors with the headboy Mikal Savary, a seventh year from Ravenclaw.

"So what should I expect?" I ask Ron as we find a place to sit.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Normally, we have meetings on the train before arriving, but Hermione spent most of it in private with Mikal." Ron's cheeks color slightly at this, but he doesn't comment further except for adding. "This is the first time there's ever been something like this."

Once the Ravenclaws come in, Hermione gets up in her seat and walks over to Headmistress McGonagall. As we wait, I can't help but notice the small representation of Slytherins. There are two fifth year and sixth year prefects, but only one seventh year and super-seventh year. And the super seventh year isn't Pansy or Draco, its Blaise. Just like earlier with Draco, Blaise somehow feels me looking and sends me not a glare, but its close cousin from the appraising stare family. I turn away with a blush.

What is it with Slytherins and their uncanny sense of being watched?

"Attention, please," the Headmistress calls out from the central podium. Everyone quiets and she nods her head. "Good. First of all, thank you. You were chosen due to your commitment to this school, academic excellence, and role model behavior. To be a prefect is to be the face of Hogwarts, and as we rise from the ashes of the last year's dark times, your role is more important than ever."

Most of the small speech seems like a standard spiel given to all prefects, but Ron and I both sit up straighter as does nearly everyone else. The Headmistress nods in approval.

"Now, on to the agenda. Hermione?"

Hermione stands up and takes McGonagall's place at the podium. She places her planner, riddled with colored flags and glowing inscriptions, on the podium. With a flick of her wand, the book opens and a bundle of paper lifts up and sorts out among us. The title on the page is "New Rules and Regulations for the 1998 School Year".

Hermione holds up her own sheet in the air. "Once the school decided to reopen Hogwarts for the 1998 school year, but allow flexibility for students to either repeat their previous year or not attend without a demerit on their educational record, the Board of Governors and teaching staff have decided to implement the following rules. As you'll discover, the majority of these rules are dedicated to super seventh years."

My fast reading speed seems to be the average person's leisure pace, so it takes me a moment to read the rule that has all my neighbors whispering or at least shifting in their robes. My reaction is completely the opposite. I freeze in horror.

 _Seventh year students with an incumbent starting year of 1991 (hereafter referred to as super-seventh years) shall be permitted to leave the school premises on the weekends providing the following guidelines are met: student is in proper academic standing, student has no obligations to the school and/or professors during their off days, and student coordinates departures and arrivals with heads of houses._

Hermione continues, "Now, if you have any questions—"

"What's this about super seventh years being able to leave whenever they want?" A fifth year prefect from Slytherin interrupts.

Hermione takes a breath. "If you read the list thoroughly, you'll notice that it will be a regulated process. The Board of Governors felt—"

"What about the regular seventh years who are of age? Shouldn't they be afforded the same rights?" A sixth year Ravenclaw interjects.

"The point of the matter is legally, they can't bind super-seventh years here by law," Hermione says loudly, her hair beginning to frizz more so than usual. "Wizarding Law states that witches and wizards need only to be educated for seven years, whether it is by homeschool or by an educational institution. Super-seventh year students are electing to be here by their own free will; therefore, the rules are to accommodate both their rights as a wizarding citizen and the expectations as a Hogwarts student."

"But that's—"

"If your next word is unfair, Mr. Lefray, I suggest you keep it to yourself," McGonagall says, causing the fifth year Hufflepuff to close his mouth with a sullen look.

But it is unfair. I know my lip is dropped and I probably have the same expression on my face that caused Hermione to shower me with encouragement whenever I was hopelessly baffled in Potions. But this note—this rule is exactly the opposite of what I wanted, which was the opportunity to get away from Longbottom Manor for just one more year. I resist the urge to crush the parchment into a ball, at least while I'm still in the Great Hall.

Smoothing her hair as best as she can, Hermione puts on a bright, forced smile. "Now, onto a little more exciting news. The professors and Board of Governors have decided to have a celebration marking the one-year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat. "

Several students gasp. Even I grimace at the use of the recent taboo. Hermione closes her eyes before plastering on her smile once more.

"This will be a collaborative effort between the students and teaching staff. Each house is expected to elect four representatives to plan this event."

"As this will be an annual event, choose your representatives wisely," McGonagall states from Dumbledore's old chair. She leans forward a bit, "The students chosen will be in charge of helping craft a new Hogwarts tradition, one we hope will be as common as the Halloween Feast or acclaimed as the Tri-Wizard Cup."

"I bet you ten galleons Harry will get elected," Ron whispers to me under his breath.

If Harry, Ron, and Hermione don't all get elected to represent Gryffindor for an event that celebrates the end of a dark wizard, a dark wizard that they were _personally_ responsible for bringing down, I'll poke myself in the eye with my wand. But I only smile and shake my head. "No bet."

Hermione walks back to her seat as Mikal rises to replace her. Again, we all sit up a little straighter—probably because Mikal has the body of a Beater and the scowl of Severus Snape. He speaks to us from the podium.

"I'll be in charge of patrolling assignments throughout the year. If anyone has any conflicts or questions, come to me."

When he turns to sit back down, the Great Hall just sits in an awkward silence. I give Ron a look and he just gives me a shrug. Hermione gets up from her chair once more with a huff.

"Okay, a few general reminders before we go. The Head of Houses are Professor Flitwick, Professor Slughorn, Professor Sprout, and our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Jones. If you have any specific or repeating issues with students, please consult them. All requests for patrol changes must be given in a week advance. All points removed from students must be recorded and submitted to your head of house. If you have any questions, feel free to talk to the older Prefects or one of us," Hermione says wearily, pointing to herself and the stoic Mikal.

"Any questions?" Mikal adds at the end, almost daring one of us to speak. I trace the woodgrains in the table; Ron drums his fingers on the bench.

"Dismissed."

* * *

Hermione walks over to us, her face instantly switching from her best impression of McGongall to a very drained and exasperate Hermione once the room empties out. "These rules are going to cause problems."

I nod empathetically as Ron casually slings his arm over Hermione's shoulders. "But it's good, right? I mean, Harry will get to go see Teddy and I'll be able to go see George and Mum to… well, visit."

Instantly I feel terrible that I, for even one moment, wished these rules never existed. I'm now nodding empathetically for Ron's statement, but Hermione displays a greater resolution.

"You heard all the complaints—and those were from prefects. Can you imagine what the student body will do?"

"Prefects aren't some mystical breed of do-gooders, Hermione," Ron says, gesturing with his head that I should follow them as he leads Hermione out the great hall doors. "I mean, yeah, people are going to complain and you'll probably have more fire-whiskey in the dorm rooms than usual—"

Hermione snaps her fingers. "Checkpoints. I'll make McGongall require checkpoints at the floo station and port-key drop-offs."

"—but it'll be fine." Ron finishes, giving her an exasperated side hug as Hermione begins dictating notes in her planner.

Ron's positive outlook makes me search for something good to say as well, so I add, "And think of all the mini-trips we can make. Diagon Alley, the ocean, greenhouses—"

"—Quidditch matches," Ron adds, his eyes looking brighter as he no doubt tries to recall the Chudley Cannons's tournament schedule.

"… I suppose it would be helpful to be able to tour a few universities I've had my eye on," Hermione says thoughtfully.

We continue up the moving staircase, talking about our future plans for the next semester. I'm the only one who doesn't mention anything about going home to visit my family, but I don't think either one of them notices. By the time we get to the seventh floor, we have established that all of the Gryffindor super-seventh years should go on a trip together (although Hermione and I both suggested it should be something non-broomstick related much to Ron's disappointment). Ron and Hermione continue toward the Gryffindor tower. I stop and tell them to go ahead without me.

A few minutes later, I reach the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. I take a deep breath, and begin pacing back and forth; passing the blank wall behind the tapestry for a total of three times. All the while, I think the same thing I thought constantly last year.

 _I need a place where Carrow supporters can't enter. I need a room set up like a dormitory with basic amenities for any student who needs a place to stay. And above all, I need Hogwarts to keep us safe._

The door appears, but it's wrong. Instead of a thick wooden door with intricate iron work designs of circles and fleur-de-lis's, it's black and tarnished—like a piece of wood consumed in a fire. I tap the handle hesitantly, but it's not hot. It's cold. My throat has become thick, but I swallow through it and open the door.

The inside is worse.

The walls and pillars are tarnished ruins compared to their former state. Half-formed couches, hammocks, and rugs are hung and draped awkwardly about—as if the room had tried to create them, but ultimately failed in its attempt. I try to repair a few of the furniture pieces with my wand. It doesn't help.

I sit on the floor as I don't trust to sit on anything else. I face the wall opposite of the door; the wall that once hung the portrait of Ariana. It's gone now, and I'm not sure if I feel happy or sad. I'm happy that I don't see her ruins, but… well, it would have been nice to see her again.

My fingers start tracing the stone floor, wiping away the dust (or ash) into the figures of nice things. Things like grass, flowers, clouds, and the sun. Only after the picture is halfway finished do I realize I drew something a five year old would create. I'm just about to erase it away, when a voice stops me form the doorway.

"It's sad, isn't it?" Ginny says, walking up behind me, kneeling on the ground beside me.

"Do you know what happened to it?" I ask, wondering if I should rub my palm against the floor to remove the smiling sun and waving grass. But it's a pointless thought considering she's already seen it.

"Fiendfyer. Crabbe."

When I look back up to the blank wall, my eyes start to sting a bit. Not enough to actually cry, but just enough to force me to acknowledge a loss. That this place was my home for a good chunk of my seventh year. That I had grown to treat this room like I do my plants—as alive; as a friend. I rest my palm against my lips, worried that my mouth might be tensing or screwing up. And then I realize my hand is filthy from the floor, so I keep it there until I can discreetly wipe away any dust.

Ginny leans into me a bit; nudging me and giving me a small smile. I smile back—not with my lips as they are still hidden, but at least with my eyes. She seems to get it. When she ducks down to look at my drawing, I use the opportunity to wipe away the ash from my cheeks. She extends a finger and draws butterflies. Or bats. Ginny really isn't artistic.

I clear my throat. "So how long were you…?"

"By the door?" Ginny asks. "Just a couple minutes before you. Harry had told me about it on the train and I wanted to… needed to see it."

I tilt my head as she begins adding what I presume are trees. That, or they're spiky gravestones to match the creepy bats. I finger in a few spiders, figuring they belong in both a garden and graveyard scene.

I bite my lip before asking. "How have you been?"

"Fine, all things considering," she says,wiping her finger on her robes before she sits on the ground beside me. "Mom didn't want Ron or I to go back to school, but she didn't fight us too hard on it."

"My Gran didn't want me coming back either," I offer. "Thinks it's time I become the Head of the Longbottom family."

She grimaces. As a pureblood, she understands everything that comes with the title, including the extraneous job duties. Most would probably think it's an honor to be on the National Electoral Committee, which is responsible for electing and voting on major political figures like the Minister of Magic. Some would probably even like the idea of being herded around a bunch of girls from respectable families to carry on the bloodline. And while I'm not looking forward to either of these duties, what I can't stand the thought of is that when I take the title—officially take the title—it can never go back to my father.

I realize I have been quiet for too long and I'm struggling to find something to say when all of sudden she leans heavily against me, resting her head on my shoulder. She stares at the same blank spot on the wall as I had, giving a heavy sigh.

"Do you think we can fix it?" she asks, her voice unusually small.

I desperately want to tell her that we can. But I only offer her the truth.

"We can try."

"Ginny?" A muffled voice, Harry's voice, calls from outside the door. "Are you in there?"

I half-expect her to jolt her head out from the crook of my shoulder, but she just rolls into me, her nose briefly touching the bare skin of my neck, before she rests her chin on my shoulder to call back to the door. "Be right there."

"How's he doing?" I ask softly, my small breath causing the red hair around her face to flutter slightly.

She shakes her head and starts to stand up. "Fine… well—"

"—all things considering?" I finish, standing up with her.

She gives me a smirk. "Yeah. All things considering."

We walk to the door and open it. Harry stands there and blinks in surprise at my presence. I gesture behind me.

"It looks a little different," I say, the smile I try to give not quite hitting it's mark.

Harry's face goes a little hard as his eyes loose focus, likely lost in a memory. "Bloody Malfoy," he says. But the curse is softly delivered, as if in disappointment and not anger. Ginny walks up to him, lightly touching him on the elbow.

"You okay?"

Harry's eyes come back to us only to smile softly down at Ginny. I take care to really rub off the grime on my fingers onto my cloak; I hope cursed ash isn't too hard to get out of fabric. The two join hands and look at me and I can see Harry giving me that look he tends gives without realizing he gives it. The look that says he needs to be alone. Or in the very least, he needs me to leave him alone. It would seem cruel if I didn't know he gave that look to everybody, including the girl at his arm.

"Well," I clap my hands together awkwardly, which of course sends a cloud of dirty dust sprinkling in the air. Harry discreetly cleans his glasses and Ginny hastily turns her laugh into a cough. I blush a little. "I suppose I should get back. Hopefully, Miranda hasn't killed Keenan or Gabriel yet."

"Miranda?" Harry asks, confused.

"Yet?" Ginny asks, amused.

I shrug my shoulders, smiling as I take my leave.

* * *

I take my time walking back to the staircase, getting lost in the thoughts in my head. Thinking about Ginny. Thinking about Aberforth. Not thinking about Longbottom duties. But in the middle of a cross thought of how tired Ginny's eyes were to how her hair smelled like grass and soap, I turn the corner and run into none other than "Bloody Malfoy" himself.

"Err, sorry—"

"Were you in a dirt pile?" Draco asks disgustedly, wiping off the dust I have transferred on to his, until now, pristine school robes. "Or is the Gryffindor tower in that savage's hut now?"

"He's a professor," I say. Then lamely add, "And no."

"Well, if I would have known stealing your remembrall would have caused you to forget basic hygienic protocols, I would have let you keep it."

I'm about to argue that he never actually stole it and I got it back, but honestly… I can't remember if that's what happened or not. I shake my head. It's not important. And he's glaring at me again. Why can't I glare like that? Or at least narrow my eyes without excessively blinking?

I stand up straight, at least relishing in the fact that I'm a few inches taller than Malfoy now. It gives me confidence to say, "If you must know, I was looking at the Room of Requirement, which you helped destroy."

He purses his lips, and looks around. Even I listen for Harry and Ginny's voices, which don't reach my ears. Then he finally stops cleaning himself and crosses his arms.

"Completely destroyed?"

I pause, wondering what I should or shouldn't tell him. "I could still get in," I say carefully, "but it couldn't create what I needed."

He lets out a heavy breath and rocks back on his feet, like he's ready to turn around. Wait. Was he coming to check on the Room of Requirement too? And does he look… disappointed? Or at least affected? When he moves to turn around, I grab his arm; the movement a reaction more than a concrete thought on my part. I gulp.

"Longbottom," Draco says, his voice eerily calm. "Get your hand off my arm."

"Why'd you do it?" I ask.

"As If I'd answer to—"

"According to Harry, you spent half your sixth year in that room. You should know better than anybody it's more than just a magical room."

He moves his arm quickly out from mine. His hand drops to his side, where his wand holster undoubtedly lies hidden. He says coldly, "Then perhaps you also heard that it was Crabbe, not me, that torched the place."

My lips are dry. I lick them and say, "But he was one of your minions. Couldn't you have just… made him stop?"

"Minion?" He shakes his head, his teeth cracking into an odd smile. He laughs a little before the smile turns into a soft snarl. "He was my friend." He steps closer to me, not at all intimidated by my height advantage. He sneers, "And he did eventually stop. When he _died_."

He moves abruptly and despite being ready for it, I still flinch. He smirks and turns back to the staircase, stepping out of view.

I wage a small war inside my head before my lips blurt, "I'm sorry."

The footsteps on the staircase stop. Maybe for a few seconds.

I quickly follow up. "I'm sorry your friend died."

When the footsteps start up again, no words follow it. Only silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** This is a story that takes place after book seven, but pretends that mini-epilogue never happened. Neville has to repeat his seventh year in school while making unlikely friends, avoiding his duties as Head of the Longbottom family, and falling in love with a girl he can never have.

 **Disclaimer:** JK Rowling is the creator of this universe; I just like to live in it.

* * *

Unfortunately, I have to start out my week with History of Magic—the only class my Gran was able to guilt me into attending. She thinks it's only proper that the future head of the Longbottom family knows all the past history involving our community's government and leadership, probably due to the notable Longbottoms that went on to become Deputy Minister and ambassadors to other magical communities. But despite how many times I try to tell her in letters or in person, Gran doesn't seem to understand that Professor Binns seems to only cover wars against other magical races. Goblins and giants especially.

So while I'm not surprised that our first lesson is on mermish treaties and wars over the last five centuries, I am surprised that I am the only Gryffindor in the classroom. And while I also expected super-seventh years and regular seventh years to share a class together, I did not expect all four houses to be in the same room. But even with all us clumped together, a good quarter of the stadium seats in the rounded classroom still remain empty.

I wasn't surprised to find myself sitting alone during class, considering no members of the DA were present either. And without Hermione to jab me in the ribs to keep me focused, I zone out quite a bit. When I drift off, I tend to get that opened mouth vacant expression that Seamus used to use as an opportunity to practice lobbing Bertie Bott's Every Flavored beans into; so I know I look like an wide mouth bass. That makes it all the worse when my vacant expression just so happens to become focused in Draco's general direction, who sits alone like me. He shoots me a glare so hard that it snaps me out of my reverie long enough to get me to pay attention to Professor Binns drone on about the Mermish verbal contract violation that led to the first underwater battle in Europe. But it doesn't last long and the next time I slip off, I find myself staring at Blaise's face. He only rolls his eyes and points toward the front of the classroom with a cross expression. It seems vaguely friendly—like the way my Great Uncle Algie kindly tried to make my magic appear by dropping me out of a window. I resolve that next class, I will make sure neither Slytherin is seated across the classroom from me.

Stupid rounded auditorium.

My next class that day is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Like History of Magic, the class combines all seventh years and all houses. It's considerably fuller, but it's still only about forty students, which isn't too far beyond the normal class size. I pair up with Luna first and we're about evenly matched, but then Luna pairs off with Ginny for our next exercise, leaving me with Harry. He's too quick and seems to not even have to think about waving his wand, it just happens. When I say as much to him, he just smiles and says he can't believe how far I've come from the DA days. And yes, I admit, I blush.

But at the end of the class, our new Professor, Hestia Jones, calls out for Harry to stay back. She had seemed pretty friendly with him all class, even talking to him about his aunt, uncle and cousin for whatever reason. Hermione oddly gets a huge smile on her face and pats the bewildered Harry on his back as he tells us to go ahead and not wait up.

That night in the common room, we find out why.

"She wants me to be a teacher's assistant," Harry admits sheepishly.

Hermione claps her hands. "I knew it." Then she straightens up and says importantly, "The Headmistress informed Mikal and I that the professors were given the discretion to take on assistants as a sort of internship position."

"Is that normal?" I ask doubtfully as Ron and Ginny shake their heads, undoubtedly from their older siblings' experience.

Hermione leans in, as though she is divulging the location of buried treasure. "It's something they've been considering for some time—they do it over at Durmstrang, so there is precedent of its use in the European school system. And with the fewer classes they have this year due to the combined classrooms, the Headmistress thought it would be the perfect year to try it out."

Ron begins laughing. "How many classes are you taking Hermione? Eight? And how many of them are you an assistant?"

Ginny nudges Harry, "If he didn't duel with slit nose last year, it probably would have been eight."

Harry turns red. "Professor Jones said it would look good on my Auror application."

I shake my head. "I don't think you need to worry about your resume, Harry."

Ron puts an arm around Hermione. "Seriously, though. Seven? Six?"

* * *

It was three. Charms, Transfiguration, and Ancient Runes. Given her inner confidence with the teaching staff as Head Girl, she had already been informed which professors wanted to offer her an assistant position. It had also been the reason why she scaled back her classes from ten to eight, as it was the only way the Headmistress would allow her to accept all three internships.

Due to her previous knowledge of her offered position, Hermione stood up front with Professor Flitwick during Charms Tuesday morning as he explains her new position in the classroom. We practice the bubble-head charms after, which Hermione had already mastered to prepare for the lesson. After Flitwick explains the general principal and movements, he allows time for practice. At first, all I manage is a hazy mist to spread around my face, which does nothing to block the overly sweet smell of jasmine that Professor Flitwick had filled the classroom with. Hermione takes me through the steps more slowly and shows me how to properly align my wrist. Eventually, a bubble forms, but in my excitement I pop it almost immediately, causing Ginny to laugh and Luna to twirl little curls in my hair with the moisture it left over. But then Justin Finch-Fletchly collapses, taking the attention away from me. Luckily, Professor Flitwick figures out what went wrong pretty quickly and pops the bubble around Justin's face. He begins gasping in air in greedy gulps. After that, Professor Flitwick pauses the class to reiterate the importance of having proper intention to breathe when creating the bubble.

Given this is fresh in our minds, it seems a bit mind boggling when Hermione tells us at lunch that Justin is the assistant for her Arithmancy class—a fact which seems to confuse Hermione to the point of anger.

"I mean, I understand he got an Outstanding in his O.W.L.S., but he just is so unstructured! I just don't see why she chose someone like him for a math based class."

"It's because of my great instincts," Justin says loudly as he passes behind Hermione's lunch seat, causing her to jump. "At least that's what Professor Vector said. Don't worry, I'll try not to cramp your style."

He then winks baldly at me before he walks to the Hufflepuff table. I turn and snicker. Justin has a way of unsettling people, but after spending quite a bit of time with him in the Room of Requirement last year, he kind of grew on me. Like a Devil's snare, you just kind of have to go with it, or else you find yourself sputtering and frazzled like Hermione.

After lunch, it's Care for Magical Creatures. I discover it's the other class that Hermione dropped, leaving me to be the only Gryffindor yet again. At least Luna is there. Hagrid seems a bit disappointed in the lack of Gryffindors as well, but he at least gives Luna and I a big grin. Well, he gives me that and a big clap on my back, causing me to wheeze for the next five minutes.

"They're so sweet," Luna says, reaching out to pet the youngest porlock in the stable at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She's the only one of us who has been able to lull one of the creatures forward—apparently they have a thing against humans. Maybe it's because she's wearing sunshades that are half red and half green that make her look like a bug. At least, that's the theory that gets whispered among her Ravenclaw peers, mixed in with some unkind laughter.

The creature, a furry thing that looks like a bundle of black hair with a pale, fleshy nose, skirts closer to the gate, finally allowing Luna to caress its fur.

"He must really like you," I say. But in my effort to drown out the mean talk behind our backs, my loud voice scares it off, sending the porlock scampering back to its pack.

"So it appears," Hagrid says, giving Luna a calculating look. My stomach drops, even though I smile encouragingly when Hagrid asks her to stay back after class. I'm happy for her and the offer she is inevitably getting, although I can't help thinking that makes two classes I won't have someone to talk to.

I tell the good news to Ginny and the rest that night. Harry is the one who doesn't seem surprised. "Remember how good she was with the thestrals?"

The rest of us blink. I had forgotten all about that. And then I realize why—Harry had been the only one of us who had been able to see the thestrals besides Luna the day we flew to the Department of Mysteries. All I remember is her cooing and petting a patch of empty air.

"Well good for her," Ginny says decisively. "Now they just need to make me Quidditch captain, and everything will be perfect."

"Sorry sis, but that title is mine," Ron says. Hermione and I just share a look. Didn't they remember Harry had been captain sixth year? But Harry just looks amused and begins setting up a match for Wizard's chess.

"Oh, you know you're going to be one of those elected for that memorial thing. So you can have that, and I can have Quidditch," Ginny reasons, scooting away from Harry to give him room to play a match with Ron

"Bullocks to that," Ron replies, forcefully directing his knight forward.

"Ron!" Hermione reprimands.

I just shake my head and go upstairs to check on Miranda. Hopefully, when Professor Jones announced the results of our voting at the end of the week, Ron would be a little bit more gracious in his acceptance.

* * *

The next day I have free while the rest of the group has Transfiguration, Muggle Studies, and Astronomy. Luna has the day off as well, so we go to Black Lake. Unlike last night in the Gryffindor common room, which was loud and full of cussing shared between Ron and Ginny, our time together is quiet and peaceful. Luna has brought the latest issue of the Quibbler and I have brought Miranda and a whistle Hermione transfigured for me last night. It's one of those whistles that is so high pitched that the air still sounds silent when I blow it. But as I suspected, Miranda somehow is able to perceive the noise, and curls up the harder I blow.

I'm in the middle of teaching Miranda how to drop and pick up an item on command when a group of first years come walking by. It's the break between first and second period, and it looks like they just had their first Herbology class. I search for Keenan and Gabriel, but I spot Portia first, who walks hurriedly at the front by herself. I wave at her, and she looks behind her, convinced that I must have pointed to someone else.

"Portia," I call out, waving her over. She hesitantly approaches us, eyeing Luna warily. When I glance over, I realize why. Luna is laying on her back with her legs crossed up in the air. She's wearing lime green shorts and mismatched socks - one that is knee high and rainbow striped and the other decorated with crows against a yellow backdrop, cut off at the ankle.

"Did you need me for something?" Portia's voice is stiff.

"How were your first few classes?" I ask, trying to be kind, wondering if I had misread her when I saw her outside the Great Hall before she got sorted.

"Fine, thank you. Now I really—"

"Portia?" Luna interrupts, turning around so she lies on her stomach to prop herself up on her elbows. "Are you Mr. Ollivander's great-granddaughter?"

Portia blinks. "Yes… how did you…?"

"I'm Luna Lovegood. I spent a few weeks in a dungeon with your great-grandfather," Luna says, as though she were commenting on a luxury vacation destination.

Portia's eyes turn wide and she immediately sits on the grass beside Luna, leaving Miranda and me in the dust, who begins pulling on my shoelaces until I blow my whistle. When Portia leans in to hug Luna tight, I think even Luna is a bit surprised, which is hard to do. Like, solving a Sphinx's riddle, hard to do.

When Portia lets go, her eyes are downcast and embarrassed, "My Grandda said I had to that if I got a chance to meet you. And… he wanted me to ask if you had found a three horned unicorn yet."

Luna sits up properly. "Not yet. But my father and I are hopeful to find one during the winter break. Unicorns love Christmas more than humans."

"That's, er, nice," Portia says, but her words sound off as she looks to the kids behind her. Most of them have already walked by, but a few with Slytherin colored ties and badges give her a stare. She jumps up and then awkwardly shakes Luna's hand. "I hope to speak to you soon."

And then she leaves without even saying goodbye to me.

"Nice to meet you," I call out behind her, still waving and smiling as though she had not snubbed me. Her shoulders tense, and although she doesn't say anything back, she turns around for a brief second to give me a flip of a hand that might be consider a wave if cast in slow motion.

"I don't think she likes you very much," Luna says sweetly, flipping back on her back to cross her legs back in the air the same time Miranda snatches away my whistle.

* * *

The next day, I finally get to go the place I've been waiting to enter my entire Hogwarts career: Greenhouse Seven. The inside holds not only some of the most exotic plants in the world, but it has three distinct habitats: one that mimics the desert, one the mimics a marshy plain, and one that mimics the ocean. We won't be able to enter the ocean habitat until we can properly execute a Bubble-head charm, which makes me grateful that it's our first lesson in Charms this year. Still, I long to enter the water and examine the Kreeling Kelp and Shimmer Lichens.

"This way," Professor Sprout announces, limping toward the marshy plain section in the center of the greenhouse. I keep smiling and letting out little bursts of laughter that I try to hold mostly under my breath, but Ginny, who walks beside me, seems to hear every one. My side is tender from her "friendly" elbow nudges by the time we arrived to our workstations.

The grass in front of us looks deceptively normal, but I immediately notice that little brown pellets beginning to sprout form the top. When I squinted, I could see the its little amorphous fists just beginning to shape on the rice.

"Wild Rice," the Professor says when she approaches the end of the table. Normally, she just stands with us to work on the plants along with us, but this year she has a little platform built at the end of the table along with a padded chair, which she heavily settles into.

"They aren't much to look at now, as they're still in the gestation stage, but once the rice pellets drop, they advance fairly quickly into adulthood. Given their rapid maturity, they adapt only the basic and barbaric needs, including reproduction, eating, and fighting, the later of which they are most fond of. The little fists you see now grow at least ten times that size and can pack quite a wallop."

"I can see why she would want to grow them," Ginny mutters under her breath, staring at the grass stems mistrustfully.

"Oh, they're great for lots of things," I whisper eagerly. "The stems are used all the time in potions to heal digestive illnesses and the rice itself is a powerful stimulant in its adult form. It boosts the user with adrenaline and endorphins."

Ron, who had been eavesdropping, leans across from Ginny. "How much energy?"

"It's illegal to use in Quidditch, Ron," Hermione snaps in a whisper. "Now pay attention to Professor Sprout."

As Hermione turns back, Ron looks at me at mouths, _How illegal?_

I grimace. _Really, really illegal._

Most of the class is spent learning how to care for Wild Rice in each stage of its development. In its gestation period, it involves almost constant showering of water, insults, and threats. The nutrient filled water is for obvious growth, but the insults and threats are to direct and increase its manic energies. The more negative things said to it, the angrier it becomes. And the angrier it gets before adulthood, the more powerful stimulant it grows into. Professor Sprout has her hands full as a few of the students (including Ron and Ginny) begin swearing profusely at their plants, reminding them that school conduct rules still apply.

I can't help but listen to Draco, who is once again by himself without a Slytherin beside him. He seems to have mastered the art of insulting and I discreetly take out a notebook to begin to take notes.

"Your mother was a stinkweed, wasn't she?"

"I could crush you. Right now I could crush you between my fingers, but why bother? It would be a waste of time. Just like you're a waste of plant life."

"Wave that fist at me one more time and I'm tearing you off and feeding you to an owl."

"Filthy little mud pellets."

" _Inciendo_. Next time you try to flick me, I'll use my wand when I say it."

"You remind me of Longbottom."

Crap. I look up sheepishly from my notes to find Draco smirking at me. But he doesn't stop there; he goes on to add, "Weak. A family trait from what I understand. With a tendency to go insane."

Seems like everyone else is too concentrated on their own insults. It's not like Draco was being particularly loud, I just happened to be paying attention. But to me, it's like he's the only person with sound and everyone else has been casted with Silencio. Hot rages make me grip my wand. I can't believe that just a few days ago I almost felt sorry for this… this… I don't even know what to call him in my head. He tenses, and I know he's removed his wand from his holster. We stare across the table, him with a smile; me with I'm not sure; certainly not the opened mouth dumb expression like in the History of Magic classroom.

" _Expelliarmus_."

Draco's wand goes flying into the air and lands in Blaise's outstretched hand a few spaces down.

"You see ricey?" Blaise says conversationally, poking the stems of rice with Draco's wand. "That's the kind of idiot you are."

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Zabini!" Professor Sprout says, getting up from her chair sharply, wincing as she does. I instantly feel guilty for making the professor move unexpectedly—after the battle of Hogwarts, she got a particularly nasty gash in the leg that didn't heal right. Draco and Blaise still square off at each other as I quickly put my wand back in its holster. "Stay after class." Her eyes find me and she adds, "You too, Mr. Longbottom."

* * *

"What do you mean you were surprised?" Ginny asks, flabbergasted. It's just the two of us hanging out in the common room. Well, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were there too, but they had separated off to sit on the couch in front of the fire. Harry had given both of us that look at we knew enough to stay away.

"I mean I was surprised," I repeat, laughing a bit. "I thought I was going to get in trouble."

"Neville, of course she was going to pick you as her assistant. What made you even think—"

"Well, I wasn't too sure, what with her leg and all. Thought having an assistant might mean more work than less for her."

"But why would you think you were going to get in trouble? You weren't the one casting magic."

"Dunno," I shrug off, not wanting to get into it. She knows about my parents and would know how Draco's comment had affected me. But the last thing I wanted was Ginny getting in trouble for jinxing Draco in the hallway. Because if a teacher other than Professor Slughorn saw her, she would probably get detention and then she might miss the Quidditch tryouts this weekend. "But it sounds like she's got a lot of interesting projects in mind. And I might tutor a few students too."

"Nice," she says, nodding as she looks toward Harry again. She has done that a few times during our conversation. Harry and the others are currently looking over a letter Harry received during supper in the Great Hall. Whatever it was, it seemed to have made him upset. And in turn, it made Ginny upset that she wasn't being told first. I'm long past the point of feeling bad not being included with whatever Ron, Hermione, and Harry do, but I do feel a little glum that Ginny seems to find my company second rate.

"So did Blaise and Draco get in trouble?" she asks, her eyes gleaming a bit.

"Just a point deduction," I shrug. "They didn't seem to care to much."

It's an understatement, but Ginny is too distracted to read into my thinly veiled words. Draco had barely waited for Professor Sprout to dismiss him once she had deducted five points for withdrawing his wand.

But after the Professor had taken ten points from Blaise for withdrawing and using his wand, he had simply smirked and said, "I was just preventing bloodshed." He had given me a knowing look after, and I realized he had been paying attention to what Draco had said about me. I didn't know how I felt about that. And I didn't know how to interpret his wink after he had left either.

When Ginny gives a little disgruntled sigh, I finally sit up straight and drag out my schoolbag from under my feet. When Ginny hears the sound of glass bottles tinkling, her face lights up with a bright smile and I know my secret has already been discovered. She even has the gall to take out her wand and say, " _Accio_ butterbeer," causing one of the bottles to fly up to her waiting hand. I shutter to think what would happen if I summoned something breakable with my poor reflexes.

"Professor Sprout got it for me so I could celebrate with my friends," I say, withdrawing another bottle from the six-pack inside and unscrewing the top.

"Wow. Harry and Hermione didn't get that special treatment."

I smile before I tip the bottle back against my lips. That's probably because Harry and Hermione didn't spend the majority of their free time in the classrooms with their teachers the way I had in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout. She knew I liked butterbeer and caramels the way I knew she like rosewater tea and dark chocolate. She also knew that I had a crush on Ginny the way I knew she had been in a long-term relationship with Professor Burbage. And she knew that I wouldn't say anything to Harry or Ginny about the way I feel the same way I knew that every auricula Professor Sprout planted would be in Professor Burbage's memory. You learn little things like that when you spend every weekend with a person.

"Now I know you've gotten better with crowds and people," Professor Sprout had said gently at the greenhouse once Draco and Blaise had left, "but if you are too uncomfortable working with others, I can just give you private projects."

I had stared at her blankly, wondering what she was going on about. Was she giving me detention for instigating the small fight between Blaise and Draco? When I asked her, she had burst out laughing, "No silly, I mean for the assistant position. Of course I'm offering it to you. So what do you want to do?"

"I, er," I had stumbled, "Anything you want me to. And… wow. Really? You sure?"

"Who else am I going to trust with my babies?"

"Wow… thank you. Thank you Professor."

She laughed again before withdrawing the butterbeer from behind her padded chair. "Now go celebrate. Merlin knows I'm going to be leaning on you heavily this year what with my bad leg. Might as well enjoy the high while you can."

Ginny is already finished with her first bottle and looks down to my bag hopefully. But then she frowns a bit and looks back to the Trio, still deep in conversation. True, I had originally planned to share the six-pack with them and celebrate with Luna this weekend, but I selfishly push my schoolbag forward with my foot.

"We're having our party. Let them have theirs," I shrug good-naturedly.

She gives me a grin and summons the next butterbeer to her hand. She raises her hand, "To Neville—Lord of the Plants."

I snort, barely holding in my butterbeer, before I click my bottle against hers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews and follows. I'm sorry about my inconsistent updating, but I unfortunately have to place my fanfiction as a low priority in my life these days. I'm currently going to school full time for my Masters in Writing while working as an accountant to support myself. I just finished my thesis, so as a reward to myself, I decided to write another chapter. I plan on continuing this story to its finish, but I can't give any promises on the timing of my updates. That being said, reviews go a long way into encouraging me to forgo sleep and write fanfiction instead :)

 **Disclaimer:** JK Rowling is the creator of this universe. I just like to live in it.

* * *

I'd been experimenting with different types of fertilizing tea for Miranda since my purchase of her three weeks ago. This morning, I seem to have found her preferred brew: nettle leaves with chicory root. She's so buoyant that her tentacles' tips turn pink. I couldn't stand the thought of leaving her in my dorm room, where the sun wouldn't bathe her until after three. So I brought her down to the common room and placed her beside the window facing the sun. I attached a little sign that said, _Please don't touch. I'm friendly, but I might not let go!_ I have no classes on Fridays, but I do have a meeting with Professor Sprout. When I come back after my breakfast meeting, I find Gabriel sitting beside Miranda, encouraging others to come and pet her new friend.

"She's really nice," Gabriel chirps as the late morning risers run down the dorm stairs, hurrying to get to their mid-morning classes. "And she smells like muffins!"

Keenan, who seems to have stuck close to Gabriel after the sorting, looks down embarrassed once he sees me. "Sorry, Neville. I tried to stop her."

"Neville doesn't mind." Gabriel smiles sweetly up at me.

I rub my hand at the nape of my neck. "It's fine, but—"

"See!" Gabriel says triumphantly.

"But," I continue, "I'd rather you only touch her in my presence. At least until she gets older. She doesn't know her own strength yet."

"Awh, Miranda would never hurt me, would she?" Gabriel starts cooing and saying baby nonsense to Miranda that causes Keenan to look like he's in physical pain. I put a hand over my mouth to hide my amusement, in case my laughter would embarrass Keenan further.

"We have to go to Charms," Keenan says, tugging her away more forcefully now. "And quit touching it before Neville gets mad."

I wave goodbye as Keenan practically drags Gabriel out of the room. I decide to spend the rest of my day beside Miranda, switching window seats as the sun moves around the common room. After I finish my Charms essay on the bubblehead charm, I get out the herbology lesson plans Professor Sprout gave to me this morning. As I suspected with the lesser amount of students, all of her classes have been consolidated into one group for each year. My only homework for the TA position this weekend is to look through everything and to let her know if I have uncertainties on teaching any of the material. I'm still a little apprehensive about standing in front of a classroom, but I can't help but get excited. I mean, how wicked is it that I get to revisit every plant I've worked with since my first year?

"Neville, I think plants are suppose to sit on the floor and humans are suppose to sit on the chairs."

I look up at Ginny's laughing voice. Miranda is seated on the window bench closest to the fireplace and I am seated on the ground below with all of Professor Sprout's lessons plans spread before me. Ginny must be done with Ancient Runes, which means that it's almost time for the Gryffindor House meeting.

"Did I already miss supper?" I ask, glancing out the window to see the sun's position. I grimace, already knowing the answer.

"Yup. It was only bangers and mash, so you aren't missing out."

"But I love bangers and mash!"

"Yet, somehow we are still friends." She sits down on the floor beside me, looking over the books. It's her turn to grimace. "Ugh. Mandrakes," she comments, looking at the second-year lesson plan I happened to pause on. "Did you know I made my pudgy root faint second year?"

My mouth drops open a bit. "You made a mandrake faint," I repeat. She looks at me expectantly. I turn my head side-to-side and sputter, "But, mandrakes have an abundant amount of natural energies. If they experience any from of malaise, much less _fainting_ , it's considered an extreme effect from lack of proper care. Professor Sprout should have noticed before you had gotten to that point."

"I know the theory behind everything well enough," she says, flicking through the pages. "Which was enough to get me the necessary OWLS to continue, but for whatever reason, every plant I seem to touch goes crazy or dies."

It may have been my imagination, but I swear Miranda's tentacles begin to edge away from Ginny. I blink. And I blink some more, before I finally say, "How am I only learning about this now?"

Ginny grinned. "Because I knew I'd get your owl face." Then she does, what I assume, is a mimic of my behavior. She drops her lips open, so her mouth forms a small "o," then she blinks a lot and swivels her head side-to-side, as if trying to view something strange from a different angle to give it new meaning.

I blush, trying not to think how cute she looks. "What does my face got to do with it?"

She slugs me lightly on the shoulder. "Neville, your owl face only happens when you're shocked. You can't blame me for keeping a stockpile of secrets to whip out when I need a laugh, can you?"

"How are we friends?" I say, throwing her words back at her from earlier. When she laughs, I duck my head, pleased with the sound.

It doesn't take long for the common room to fill up with our housemates. Gabriel (and a reluctant Keenan) sit by me and Ginny, as well as a blonde third year named Veronica Turgis and a burly fifth year who I can't quite place until he smiles and his blue eyes crinkle in a familiar way.

"Fredrick? Is that really you?" I say, a bit amazed.

"Owl face," Ginny whispers. I snap my mouth shut.

Fredrick pretends to flex his biceps. "I guess I put on a some weight this summer."

"I'd say you put on a whole stone," Veronica corrects, laughing in her crass but contagious way that always seemed to light up the Room of Requirement last year. "I'd like to see one of those Carrow supporters try to mess with you now."

"Gryffindors!" Professor Jones calls out, her voice magically amplified. I straighten up, ignoring the snickers from my neighbors at my desire to please my superiors.

Once the room quiets, Professor Jones claps her hands together. "Good. Now that I have your attention, let's get started. But before I begin, let it be known that I will not be listening to any more complaints about the super-seventh year rules. If you have something to say on the matter, write it down and slip it under my office door. More than likely, my response to you will be the same as every other response I have given: the Board of Governors has made their decision. Yes, I believe it's fair. No, I don't think you are above the rules and should be allowed to leave too. Are we clear?"

There is a murmuring assent, many of which are tinged in annoyance or anger. How many questions did Professor Jones answer in that vein before she reached this breaking point?

"Now that we have that out of the way, let's get to the fun stuff. First off, Quidditch tryouts are tomorrow at 1:00 pm. All Gryffindors second year and older are allowed to try out. Now again, here I will pause to say that if I get another first year complaining to me that it's not fair that they can't try out for the team when the captain got drafted as a seeker his first year, I will again tell you that the school's policy is clear: second years and older have permission to try out. Any first years wanting to try out need a handwritten slip from Madame Hooch certifying their flying skill. As I have received no such slips, no first years are allowed to try out."

Again there is a grumbling. Keenan even goes so far to stamp his foot on the floor in anger. Of course, he couldn't have known that a single foot stomp was my training signal for Miranda to pet my proffered hand. So when the snarfalump's tentacles begin to caress Keenan's cornrows, he yelps and scoots away. Gabriel shoots him a dirty look and begins to pet Miranda more enthusiastically to make up for her friend's departure.

Then I realize what else Professor Jones had said—Harry must be the Quidditch captain. I look over to Ginny, who's gritting her teeth in a way she thinks looks like a grin to cover up her anger. I've never had the heart to tell her otherwise.

"Do you have anything to add, Captain?" Professor Jones says, turning to Harry.

Harry's eyes go wide at the sudden attention. He stands up and simply adds, "Please only enter the tryouts if you are serious about being on the team. It's not a closed tryout, so if you'd rather just watch, feel free to sit on the benches rather than participate."

Ginny nods empathetically at the addition, as does Ron. I lean forward and make a note on my parchment to find out if Luna wants to watch the tryouts with me tomorrow.

Professor Jones goes through the rest of the standard House meeting conversation points. All students are encouraged to retire to their dorm rooms before midnight. Gryffindors are forbidden to leave the common room after 9:00 PM. It's all familiar to me, so I let her words wash over me as I began to stare at Professor Sprout's lesson plans again. I'm just revisiting the defensive benefits of puffapods as troll repellant, when the conversation gets interesting again.

"Now, onto the final point." Professor Jones' voice is already hoarse from the ten-minute speech. How does she get through her defensive classes if this long of talking is already wearing her out? "Some of you may have heard this from your prefects, but Hogwarts will be creating a new annual event celebrating the end of He-who-must-not-be-named."

The whispers start as Professor Jones talks, but she seems too tired to fight it anymore. She should get lessons from McGonagall on how to stare someone into silence. Or a Slytherin. Slytherins are unnaturally good starers. Before I can debate with myself if "starer" is even a word, a slip of paper floats in front of me. Professor Jones takes off her purple brimmed hat and waves it in the air.

"Once you are done writing the names of four people, please fold it in half twice. The parchment slips have been charmed to accept a name only once and it will only allow itself to be folded once four names are written."

I immediately write down my four choices:

 _Hermione Granger_

 _Harry Potter_

 _Ron Weasley_

 _Ginny Weasley_

When I fold it twice, the paper zooms out of my hand and flies directly into the Professor's hat. That's some nifty charm work. I wonder if Professor Sprout could utilize something like that for collecting homework, so she wouldn't have to move around so much.

After a few minutes, the Professor says in a finalizing, hoarse note, "There are a few people who have excused absences from this meeting, so I won't be announcing our Gryffindor representatives until tomorrow night. If you have any questions besides the super-seventh year rules and first year broom privileges, feel free to come up to talk to me. Otherwise, you are dismissed."

* * *

I had plans to finish reading the rest of my herbology lesson plans, but thankfully, Hermione tapped me on the shoulder to remind me I had patrolling duties.

"Sorry if you already knew," she said with a light grimace. "I'm just so used to Ron forgetting that I've gotten into the habit of reminding everyone."

I hurriedly thanked her, and left to deposit Miranda back in my dorm room. I get outside the portrait door before I run back to put on my school robes—a requirement for Perfects on duty. Then, as a last minute decision, I turn back again to write a message on my DA galleon. Instead of asking Luna, I tell the entire DA about Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts tomorrow and suggesting a mini-reunion on the bleachers. By the time I exit the portrait door for the third time, I'm running late. Prefects always patrol in pairs, and more often than not, they patrol with someone outside of their house. As such, patrolling partners are required to meet up in the Great Hall at 9:00. Everything past midnight is left up to Mrs. Norris and Filch.

I come into the Great Hall, wheezing. The air still smells like bangers and mash, which makes my stomach growl—both in hunger and in anger for missing it. No one else is in the room. Looks like whoever I was paired with is running late too.

That, or I was running so late, they left to patrol without me. I dig in my school robes to pull out my pocket watch, but of course I forgot it when I changed clothes. I'm struggling to remember the spell that will tell me the time when Blaise struts into the hall.

"Evening, Longbottom," he says. "Is there a reason why you look like you've just been confounded?"

"Trying to remember the spell to tell time," I mumble sheepishly.

" _Temporis_." He recites the spell while waving his wand in a simple circle. A hazy image of a clock face appears, with the small hand pointing to the nine and the big hand pointing to the two. "That's second year spell work. Are you sure you should be a prefect?"

I laugh, because honestly, I've been wondering that same thought for the last year. "No. I'm not sure at all. To be fair, I usually have my pocket watch." Determined to start this patrol off right, I give him a smile. "I'm glad you were just as late as me."

Blaise smirks. "I've been here since 8:45. I just wandered out to the foyer, because I got bored waiting."

"Oh, sorry," I blush. "I forgot I had patrol tonight."

"Really?" He levels me with that stare of his. "Was this an intentional forgetting to avoid patrolling with a Slytherin? Or was this a—"

"No, no!" I interrupt quickly. "I'm just forgetful, okay? I kept running back to my dorm room because first I had to drop off Miranda, then I had to change clothes, and then I had this message—"

"Relax, Longbottom," he laughs. "I'm just giving you a hard time. I've had class with you since we were eleven. I know how forgetful you are." He widely gestures to the Great Hall's exit, lit dimly by the floating candles above our heads. "Any preference on where to start our patrol?"

My stomach rumbles. "How about the kitchens?"

* * *

Turns out, Blaise hadn't known where the kitchens were located, much less the trick of tickling the pear's painting to enter. When the portrait opens to the house elves dominion, he turns in place, impressed. "Is this how you and your kids got food last year?"

The house elves roll over a cart laden with tea and sweets. When I ask if they have any bangers and mash from tonight's feast, they practically sing with delight over my desire for their leftovers. I quickly shake my head. "No. We couldn't afford to leave the room, unless… well… we couldn't leave the room."

Blaise hums and looks away, uncomfortable.

According to most students, all members of the Slytherin house were Carrow supporters. Why wouldn't they be? They were given preferential treatment and never once did they receive a point deduction, detention, or other form of punishment. A lot of the people hiding out in the Room of Requirement automatically resented the Slytherins for this and lumped them in with Carrows' lot. But Luna and I asked them to think carefully—had they really seen every Slytherin support the Carrows? Were there any members of the house who appeared to have sympathy for those of us in here?

Sadly, most people in the Room of Requirement didn't try to expand their viewpoints. Their counterpoints were hard to argue with—if there were people in Slytherin who didn't support the Carrows and Voldemort, why didn't they stand up for those being hurt? Still, I tried to make them see that maybe they were being forced into their roles by other members of their house, or even their families. When Luna was kidnapped, it became even harder to fight this point—especially since there were much more prevalent things to focus on, like making sure everyone was safe and fed. But I always kept a list in my head of the active Carrow participants and the reluctant bystanders. Blaise, despite being close to Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle, was firmly in the reluctant camp. Yes, he was usually present when his housemates hexed muggleborns in the hallways, but he never pulled a wand on anyone unless they pulled a wand on him first. It didn't make him a great person, but it didn't necessarily make him a bad one either.

"The Carrows hated you," Blaise says conversationally, taking a sip of the elves' cinnamon tea. "When you finally went into hiding, they couldn't stand knowing you were in the castle, yet out of their reach. They even made these big speeches in the Great Hall that whoever found you first would rise in the Dark Lord's rank."

I sputter, sending drops of cinnamon tea on the floor. A house elf skips over and immediately cleans it up. "What? Why me?" I ask.

He hands me a napkin, looking amused as I dab my lips. "Several reasons. For one, you were their leader—"

"It was a group effort with Ginny and Luna," I argue.

"Two, you insulted them in class—"

"Well, yes, but a lot of people stood up to the Carrows."

"And three, you weren't afraid of them."

The house elves return with a basin of garlic mashed potatoes, a turret of creamy beef gravy, and a platter of thick, apple-stuffed sausages. I bow my head in thanks. They bow their head in more thanks. I bow even deeper. They fall on the floor in gratitude. Blaise grabs one of my shoulders, as if I might fall through the floor to out-gratify them.

"Well, aren't you going to argue that point too? About not being afraid of them?" Blaise asks, smirking at me.

"I was afraid," I say softly as I load up a plate. I think of the thirteen separate times I was inflicted with the cruciatus curse, and how I still have nightmares about that pain, especially in regards to my parents. I remember how Alecto Carrow took me into her office after I stood up for a Ravenclaw first year, and whispered how she was going to dismember my Gram if I ever did something like that again. But the worst fear was when I had everyone in the Room of Requirement. Because I knew it was up to me to keep them safe. "I was really, really afraid."

Blaise is quiet for a long time, allowing me to finish my plate of food. It's one of the best meals I've had in a long time, seasoned with hunger. The only meal I can think of that was better was the first lunch Aberforth made for all forty-three of us. It didn't matter that all of the fish was overcooked and dry or the chips were cold and limp—it was our first real meal in days. I smile, thinking about Aberforth's gruff disposition, how he claimed he was no babysitter or cook, yet he had cared for us all. But Aberforth was like that—he showed more than spoke. Like during the battle, when I saw some of his awesome wand work. I would have never figured an innkeeper to hold such power. This thought makes me stop. Maybe Aberforth would have some ideas on how to fix the Room of Requirement.

"We should get going," Blaise says, setting his empty teacup on the cart. I place my empty plate there as well, and it's immediately whisked away by curtseying house elves. "I think we can firmly establish that no students are in the kitchens."

"But it's a good thing we investigated, just in case." The joke slips naturally off my tongue, like I'm talking with Ginny or Luna. I blush a little, not daring to look up at Blaise. I'm always hesitant with my humor until I really get to know someone. I sigh in relief to hear him laugh and then surprises me when he drapes an arm around my shoulders.

"Come on, Neville," he says, gripping my shoulder tightly as he leads me out the kitchen. "It's my turn to show you a secret involving Hogwarts. Spoiler alert: it involves a certain pranking poltergeist and his irrational fear of turnips."

I laugh. "Oh yeah?"

Blaise smirks and grabs a turnip from a kitchen counter just before we leave. "Oh yeah."

* * *

The next day, I show up to the Quidditch pitch early, only to find the tail end of the Slytherin Quidditch tryouts. There aren't very many kids in the bleachers watching, but I do find Luna sitting by herself. Her outfit is a marvel. On her head she has charmed a hat to look like a badger. She he has one green-and-silver stripped sock that reaches up to her left knee. On her opposite leg, she has a blue sock with flying ravens that reach mid-thigh. She also wears a red t-shirt with a roaring lion, charmed to move and growl silently. She waves me over, oblivious as always to the people across the way pointing to her with judgmental faces.

I sit beside her in my uninspiring corduroy pants and maroon shirt. Maybe I should ask her to charm me some accessories for this year's quidditch matches. "You're earlier," I say.

"I came to watch Draco try out," she says, her eyes high in the sky. Sure enough, Draco's unmistakable blonde hair stands out. A few other Slytherins I can't recognize from this distance fly with him. Presumably, they are all looking for the snitch.

"Any reason why?" I ask. I don't really expect an answer. Or at least, an answer I will understand. Most of her life choices seem to be on the whim of nargles and whatnot. Even though I don't comprehend it, it's clearly important to her so I try to understand.

"Because I like him," she says.

"Like who?" I ask absently, scanning the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team on the ground. I seem to recall Blaise being a Beater at one point, but I don't find him standing with the rest.

"Draco, silly," Luna says.

For the first time since we became friends my fifth year, Luna has rendered me genuinely speechless. She smiles at me cheerfully as I inspect her carefully. Finally, I ask, "Is this because of Wrackspurts?"

"No," she says. "Daddy gave me a spray to keep them away." Her eyes go back to the sky, tracing Draco's figure. Clearly, he's the best flyer of the bunch—even I can tell that, and I'm about as inept with sports as a Troll is with table manners. "I'm afraid I developed Stockholm syndrome while staying at the Malfoy manor, and I can't quite tell if my affections are deserved or not at this point."

"Stockholm Syndrome?" I ask.

"A condition when a person who has been kidnapped develops an attraction for her captor." Luna claps her hands a bit as Draco made an impressive dive to the ground. "Of course, he wasn't the one who actually captured me, but since it was his home, the diagnosis still seems relevant."

"Uhh… when did this happen?" I ask, trying very _very_ hard to understand.

She tilts her head. "I'm not entirely sure. It could have been when Bellatrix Lestrange forced him to use the cruciatus on me."

"He used crucio on you?" I hiss, feeling for my wand, ready to stun him off his broom. Or at least, attempt to. My aim isn't the greatest, and that's with objects standing still.

She laughs. "No. He pointed his wand and said the words. But he didn't actually do it." Her face puffs with pride. "Luckily, I'm a very good actress. I screamed and howled, just like a banshee on All Hallow's Eve. Bellatrix Lestrange complimented Draco and everything."

I settle into my seat, slightly calmer, but not feeling any better about Luna's choice of crush. "So how did that lead you to liking him?"

"He snuck down to the dungeon that night. He gave me a healing potion and even some sweets. Of course, I gave them to Mr. Ollivander instead as he needed the potion and calories more than me, but it was still a very nice thought."

"So that's it? That's why you like him?"

"Among other things," she says with a secretive smile. Suddenly, she stands up from the bleacher and cheers like a banshee on All Hallow's Eve (or so I imagine). Draco has caught the snitch, making him the official Slytherin seeker. To my surprise, Luna is the only one cheering. There are a few lackluster claps from the Slytherin side of the stadium, but most look upset. Still, Luna keeps hollering and bellowing, putting banshees to shame all over England. When Draco flies down, his face is beet red and he refuses to look our way.

The Slytherin crowd trickles out of the stadium the same time Gryffindor charges in. There is a large crowd on the pitch—not quite as big as Harry's sixth year, but still impressive. Harry sorts them into different lines according to their desired position. There are six people behind Ron for position of Keeper and twelve people behind Ginny for Chasers. The last line of nine people is for the beaters. Since Harry is the captain, he automatically gets to keep his former position, so there are no Seekers trying out. Luna and I make predictions on who will make the team when our bench begins to fill up. Hermione is first, and I think this is the first time I've seen her without a book while sitting in the Quidditch stands. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones show up next. When I say hi, they snicker and turn red. It's a little odd, but with the sudden flow of people, I don't have much time to wonder what I did to cause the reaction.

By the time the Quidditch tryouts officially begin, there are over twenty people from the DA here. A few have huddled around Luna, begging her to comment on the tryouts like she used to comment on the Quidditch games. Sally-Anne Perks passes out her famous caramel-apple bars, which were a hit back in the Room of Requirement once she convinced Aberforth to let her use his kitchen. Even Hermione turns a blind eye to the butterbeers and glamoured firewhisky being passed around in the spirit of camaraderie (as long as the only ones drinking are of age). It's a good crowd and I make sure to say hi to everyone and ask them how they are doing. I've missed them during the summer break, and after our experience together, they will always be more than just classmates to me.

Luna has amplified her voice loud enough just for our section, making everyone laugh with her commentary ("Ron's reach has gotten longer since last sixth year, I wonder if his shoes still fit him properly?") and her lack of Quidditch terminology ("Fredrick hits the ball of pain with his boomstick"). I only really pay attention to Ginny's tryout. It's no surprise she gets her old position back—she's easily the best flyer on the team, after Harry, of course. But he's on an entirely different level—one that doesn't seem fair to compare to normal school age Quidditch players.

When the tryouts are complete, the team consists of Ron as Keeper, Ginny, Misa Suzuki, and Natalie McDonald as Chasers, Fredrick Dunroe and Jimmy Peaks as Beaters, and of course, Harry as Seeker. But Harry doesn't leave the pitch after the positions are announced. Instead, he adds, "While I appreciate the Hogwarts staff assigning me to the position of captain, I am resigning." There is a murmur of gasps. Hermione is the only one in the stands who doesn't seem surprised, and in turn, her knowledge of this doesn't surprise me. Harry grins to the two redheads on his team. "I'd like to announce your new co-captains, Ron and Ginny Weasley."

* * *

I'm having a tough time reading Ginny as we walk to the Great Hall for supper. She keeps insisting that she's happy, but she's doing her grimace smile, making her words hard to believe. Given our talks last year, I know how much she struggles with getting recognition outside of her brothers. Sharing a captain position with Ron probably doesn't help that insecurity. It also doesn't help that Ron and Hermione both seemed aware of Harry's plan to step-down, and Ginny was the only one caught by surprise. But the more she talks to me about it, the more she tries to convince herself that Harry made the right decision and that she should be, no, she _is_ happy about it.

I'm less than convinced, but I'm wise enough to keep my mouth shut.

After supper, I run up to the owlery to send my letter to Aberforth. My letter asks after Ariana and how the Hog's Head was faring, before I get to the heart of the matter: if he had any suggestions on how to fix something destroyed by fiendfyre. The chances are slim, but he is a Dumbledore. And he's more in touch with the darker side of magic than most people I know. Or at least, most of the good people I know.

I'm careful to avoid touching the walls as I ascend the stone stairs. This part of the castle has always been disturbingly dirty and I feel bad for the owls that nest here. The room is caked with droppings and feathers. The nests are cracked and falling apart. I cast _scourgify_ for several minutes and then _reparo_ on the nests after. Of course, this doesn't endear me to the birds. Owls don't react well to having wands pointed at them, unless the owl is the wizard's familiar. As such, it takes me a long time to entice one of the birds to swoop down to me.

Footsteps echo up from the stone steps as I hand my letter off. A few moments later, Justin's curly blonde hair and blue eyes pop around the corner. "Neville! How's it going? Sorry I couldn't make it to the DDA meet-up—Hannah tells me I missed a good time."

"I'm guessing I have you to thank for the glamoured bottle of firewhisky that got passed around the stands?" I ask, having recognized Justin's spell work. He had a bit of a drinking problem last year, and while I couldn't convince him to stop, I was able to get him to charm the labels of the firewhisky bottles so the younger students in the Room of Requirement would be oblivious. His favorite label had always been "Cherry Pop!" with a pair of blushing cherries as decoration, which had been the same label floating around today in the stands.

He shrugs his shoulders magnanimously. "What can I say? I'm a giver." He pulls out his own letter and an owl immediately swoops down to take it. "So what are you up to? Sending a letter to your folks about getting the TA position? Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks, you too. And no," I say with a twinge of guilt. "I was actually sending a message to Aberforth."

"Damn. If I had gotten here earlier, I would have penned a message on the bottom. Complimented his beard or something to get him all riled up." His eyes mist over with memories, no doubt thinking of the countless times he had charmed Aberforth into selling him whiskey on credit. "Good times."

We talk for a little while about our TA positions. Justin brags how he plans on making at least one of his tutored students cry and I express how I plan to cry after failing horribly while teaching my first class. He laughs at my "joke," and the topic switches to Quidditch tryouts. I'm surprised to find out Justin plans on trying out for the Hufflepuff team tomorrow, as he's never tried out before. That is, until I find out his true intentions.

"I know, I know, it's shallow and all that. But I really want to see Eric up close in his Quidditch dragonhide pants before I die, is that too much to ask?" Then his eyes get misty with memories again as he sighs and says, "Remember when Oliver Wood used to play? Now that guy knew how to wear a Quidditch uniform."

I'm about to laugh and tell him I'll take his word for it when an owl sweeps in. My stomach sinks. I recognize the owl. It's Gran's grey barn owl that has only gotten meaner the older it gets. Some days, I need to bow my head respectfully to avoid a peck. Other days, I need to grab its letters as quick as possible, or it will lose patience and try to poop on my head. Today, it flies straight for me and drops the letter on the floor before heading out the opposite window. I mutter a _scourgify_ before I pick it up.

Justin continues to talk about Quidditch (or more accurately, the boys in Hogwarts that play Quidditch) as I open up the envelope. There are two letters inside. One is a simple handwritten note from Gran that states: _You need to fill out the attached letter before the end of the year. Also, we need to plan a visit to St. Mungo's. Since you're of age, you need to start getting involved with your parents' health treatment plans. Message me back with a date that will work for you and I will coordinate with Minerva if need be_. I sigh and pull out the other letter—a thick wad of legal parchment papers with the title "Wizengamot Registration."

"Yeesh. That looks gross," Justin says, poking at the thick wad of paper. "Do you have to appear in court for something?"

"Sort of," I shrug. "These are papers to make me an official member of the court."

"Gross," he says. At my look, he holds up his hands. "Sorry, it's just, I was on the fast track to be a lawyer as a kid. Got into Eaton and everything. Thank God, I turned out to be a wizard, or I might have been stuck in a powder wig and closet for the rest of my life."

Normally, I would ask Justin several follow up questions, such as where was Eaton, what did a powder wig have to do with anything, and why would he be in a closet if he were a muggle? But all I can see if my Gran's note and the Wizengamot papers.

"I got a meeting in my common room," I say, distractedly, moving toward the stairs.

"Okay, well, I got a few more letters to send," he says slowly. "You okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," I say, giving him a smile. "It was good to catch up. Let me know how the Quidditch tryouts go. Or at least, how the views are."

He grins hugely and gives me a thumb's up. "You got it."

* * *

Of course by the time I get to the common room, I've forgotten the password. Figures. All I can remember is that it sounds like snarfalump and it has something to do with a muggle moving picture. More unfortunate still, since everyone is in the common room, I'll have to wait until after the meeting before someone comes out and lets me in.

I sit on the stone floor beside the Fat Lady's portrait and fold out my Wizengamot papers. I read all the duties I'll be expected to fulfill, starting at the beginning of next year. This includes being present for all major court cases, amendment proposition discussions, and any election results for the Ministry of Magic. I think of how much time this will cut into my school year, and how much I'll miss out with my friends. But more than that, I think of my Dad. He's still the head of our house, despite his state of mind. And once I sign these papers, he will officially be my ward, instead of the other way around. And if I do that, I'll be giving up like Gram. I'll be saying that I don't believe he'll ever get better.

I point my wand to the document. " _Incendio_." The paper bursts into flames—green flames. I don't know why, but I've never been able to make my fire look normal. I watch with uncertain satisfaction as the parchment curls, before collapsing into ash. The Fat Lady shouts at me to put it out, and I do, but only after everything is gone—including my note from Gram. When I vanish the pile of ash, I feel immensely better.

Ten minutes later, the portrait door swings open. It's Professor Jones and she looks at me, annoyed. "Longbottom! Were you out here the whole time?"

"Yeah," I say, embarrassed. "I forgot the password."

She sighs. "It's heffalumps, whatever the devil that is." I expect her to walk out of the common room and leave. Instead, she grabs my arm and pulls me into the common room. But if that was surprising, I'm downright flabbergasted when everyone begins to applaud when I enter.

"What's going on?" I ask, completely confused as Professor Jones pushes me out to the middle of the room, where Harry, Hermione, and Ron are standing. The group of people that surrounded them, including Ginny, back off, giving me a wide smile.

"Now that everyone is _officially_ here," Professor Jones says, casting me a side-eye glare. "May I announce the winners of your vote for the end-of-the-year celebration, marking the Dark Lord's defeat: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom."

It feels like first year all over again, when Dumbledore awarded me points, simply because I got petrified by Hermione in an attempt to stop them from losing Gryffindor points. Ron thwacks me on the shoulder, Hermione hugs me, and Harry turns to me clapping, as if all the cheers should only be for me. I stare to the crowd of people, who are now laughing as well as cheering. And it's only when Ginny points to me and mouths, _owl face_ , do I shut my mouth and finally smile.


End file.
